


All We Get

by eleanor_lavish



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-09
Updated: 2017-01-09
Packaged: 2018-09-15 21:58:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9259235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eleanor_lavish/pseuds/eleanor_lavish
Summary: Most people only knew him by reputation: Cassian Andor is an enigma, a spy, a cold-blooded man with no friends, no home, who lives only for revenge, for the Alliance.Shara Bey wouldn’t argue with any of those.





	

Most people only knew him by reputation: Cassian Andor is an enigma, a spy, a cold-blooded man with no friends, no home, who lives only for revenge, for the Alliance. 

Shara Bey wouldn’t argue with any of those. 

_He’s nothing to me, he’s no one_ , she tries to tell herself every time she sees him across an Alliance-friendly bar. _He’s driftless, meaningless, a means to an end_ , she reminds herself every time she wakes up alone, his side of whatever random bed they’d tumbled into already stone-cold.

*

The first time they meet, Shara is buzzing, the adrenaline of her latest run still flying under her skin. They blew up ten power stations, crippling the Imperial army’s supply chain. They only lost two pilots that day, and Shara mourns them, but she celebrates because neither of them were _her_. Cassian is a handsome stranger sitting in a shadowed corner, his eyes dark and watchful, cautious, his cheekbones sharp and beautiful. She watches him until he’s watching her. Watching her laugh, watching her dance, watching her walk over to his table with two pints of Ebla. 

“You’re pretty,” she says, sliding the drink across the table. “You should dance with me.”

He blinks, caught of guard, and her grin turns sly. “I don’t dance,” he says, and Shara shakes her head.

“If we don’t dance now, we may never have the chance again,” she reminds him. _Dance when you win_ , she remembers her father saying as he spun her around their small kitchen table, _and dance when you lose. Just dance when you can, always remember to dance, Sharita._

Cassian hadn’t danced with her that night. He hadn’t danced with her once, not ever. 

At least not standing up.

But Cassian moved like a dancer in her arms just the same; his skin was golden, soft and scarred, and his hips moved in ways that drove her wild, made her cry out. They weren’t quiet, she and Cass. They weren’t cautious with their bodies. Shara felt him all the next day, could see the red marks she left above his collar as he walked out into the night. They weren’t cautious with their bodies, but they were cautious with everything else. 

By the end, they weren’t strangers. But they weren’t lovers, either. They weren’t strangers, because she _knew_ him, but what she knew was that she couldn’t ever have him, that the Alliance was his master and his mistress, that his heart was more battered than even hers, that he wasn’t a man who believed in love.

It was good she didn’t love him, then.

*

The last time she sees him, Cassian Andor has returned from the wreckage of Jedha with a crew of misfits in tow. Everyone on base from generals to pilots are reeling from the news - of the battle station called the Death Star, of the power it wields, of Galen Erso and his plan, his renegade Imperial pilot, his daughter with rage-filled eyes. Cassian stands strong but his brow is furrowed. Mon Mothma sticks a pin in their plan and Shara watches him stalk from the room, frustration coming off him in waves. 

Shara follows.

“You know it’s impossible,” she tells him, leaning back against the bunkhouse. 

“I know,” he snaps. 

“The archives are too fortified, you’d never get -”

“I _know_ ,” he practically growls at her, and Shara sees that he’s wilder than he was last she saw him. Wound more tightly, but liable to be more dangerous when unleashed. She feels an itch under her skin; Shara Bey is an Alliance pilot, and danger makes her blood run hot. _Cassian_ makes her blood run hot.

“No use sitting around and moaning about it,” she shrugs, and when she takes his hand, he only hesitates a moment before following her to her bunk, both of them rolling into the tiny space and pulling the curtain closed, neither of them stifling their moans as they dance.

*

He’s gone when she wakes.

They’re all gone - Cassian and the Erso girl; the blind man and his giant companion; the K droid and the Imperial spy and a dozen men who Shara knew by name and reputation as the best of the worst of them. 

Now, they’re known as Rogue One.

Now, they’re known as martyrs.

*

Shara watched from her X-wing as the Death Star destroyed its own people, and Shara’s right along with it.

The pilots who return celebrate that night - as they always do, in victory or in defeat. 

Shara doesn’t dance.

Instead, she makes it nearly to the bunkhouse before throwing up in a bush.

*

She throws up again the next day. And the one after. 

Three weeks later, she’s throwing up on schedule - morning, lunch, and once in the middle of the night, just for laughs.

She throws up in her cockpit now too, every flight.

Captain Bhonel finds her nursing bread and cool water behind the mess hall tent. “It’ll get better,” she says, sitting down next to Shara and passing her a piece of ripe stonefruit. “The first three months are always the worst. Then, if you’re lucky, you’re just horny and hungry for a while.”

Shara holds herself very still. The Captain doesn’t look at her, just leans back on her elbows and looks up at the starry sky. “I can still fly,” she says, her voice tight as a drum. “I can still -”

“For a while, of course,” Bhonel agrees. “Then you’ll get too big for the seatbelts!” She smiles over her shoulder at Shara. “But you’ll be flying for a long time, Bey. Being a mother doesn’t make you less of a pilot.”

*

“Fuck you, Andor,” she hisses into the wind, hunched over the latrines and shaking. The wind is cool and strong, and brings tears to her stinging eyes.

*

She’s five months along, and as horny and hungry as promised, when she meets Kes Dameron. His eyes smile as brightly as his mouth, and he laughs, and he dances, and when he pulls her close, he knows her - knows that Shara Bey is strong and stubborn and wild and reckless and free - and he lets her know him, too.

It doesn’t hurt that his eyes are deep and dark enough to remind her of someone else. That his skin is the right shade of golden. That the baby inside her will look like Kes, even if he looks like Cassian. That she’ll be able to look at the baby and forget, sometimes.

“Who was he?” Kes asks, after they’ve stopped pretending that they’re not sharing a bed every night. He has his hand on Shara’s belly. Sometimes, she can feel the baby move, like an alien. Like an invader. Like a tiny spy inside her body.

She has no idea who Cassian Andor was, or what kind of a man he would have been if Empire hadn’t taken and taken and taken from him, from all of them. She knows he was cunning and cold and beautiful and bright and always, always gone too soon. She has no idea what part of Cassian lives on inside her body, or if she’d even recognize it if he did.

“He’s gone,” is all she says, and Kes just kisses her cheek and pulls her closer. 

*

They marry on the moon of a barely-inhabited planet. Kes wears his half his pilot’s uniform and a jacket he borrows from the priest. Shara wears a green dress she bartered from Omari, her stomach wide and round, shimmering under the fabric. 

They make love. Kes leaves the next day on a bombing run, and Shara stays behind because she can’t fit in the fucking cockpit anymore. 

*

“He looks just like you,” the midwife says to Kes, placing the baby in Shara’s arms. Kes just laughs and winks at Shara, laying exhausted and sweaty in her bed. 

“Lucky me,” Shara says with a tired smile, and sends a prayer of thanks to the universe.

Poe Dameron is a joyful baby with ringlet curls like his mother, and cheekbones that could cut like a knife.


End file.
